


A Foot in the Door

by rosebud221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And Sherlock and John need to talk, Angst, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, Mary is dead, Pre-Johnlock, Sherlock's POV, my version of events, post 4x01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud221B/pseuds/rosebud221B
Summary: Sherlock is just finishing a therapy session when John busts in.They really need to talk, and Ella knows it.





	A Foot in the Door

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this just after TST aired. 8 months later, I am finally able to have an AO3 account so here it is: My first fanfic.
> 
> Comments and criticism are greatly appreciated.

It’s been months.

Months staring at an empty chair.

Months feeling the weight of silence.

Months knowing Mary’s dying wish goes unfulfilled.

He’s called Molly more times than he can count, but every time she says the same.  
“Nothing’s changed.”  
How can she say that when everything so obviously has?

He sits across from her, this woman. He could find out her whole life story in an instant if he wanted.

If that mattered.

But instead, he sits like every other patient, listening and talking and waiting for some guidance, some direction.

Nothing’s changed, but everything has.

Lestrade calls him nearly every day, some new case boggling his inferior mind, but there is no satisfaction in solving them anymore.

Everyone but him seemed to notice that his life stopped revolving around cases long ago. He feels lost, a planet without a sun to revolve around. John would think it an apt metaphor-

John.  
John.  
Just John now, not John-and-Mary, the conglomerate he filed them under to lessen the hurt.

She’s talking to him now, this therapist, telling him it’s a ‘two-way street.’ This doesn’t feel like a street at all. It feels like a forest, filled with dark trees and winding paths.

What an idiotic analogy. He really is going soft.

She tells him that if he wants to fix this (them? John?) he’s going to have to find a doorway to John, a way for them to talk. He hears her close her notebook and realizes an hour has slipped by.

He stands and walks to the door with her close behind. That’s odd, he thinks as he turns the knob. She always stays seated.

He pulls open the door and is assaulted by blue. The same midnight blue that dances through his dreams. And everything changes yet again.

John is staring back at him. Rage as powerful as in the aquarium darkens his features, making him look murderous. And Sherlock is unable to speak.

“YOU!” John steps forward and swings, catching Sherlock across the jaw, making his head snap to the side. 

“You-“ John has to stop his sentence. He’s shaking now. Sherlock opens his mouth, tries to speak, but John cuts him off with a finger. 

“You followed me here? You haven’t done enough, hm? You haven’t caused enough damage?”

“John..” Sherlock’s voice is a whisper that soon trails off. What can he say in the face of these accusations? It’s not like he doesn’t deserve the abuse.

“You can’t help yourself, can you? I’m your bloody loose end, and you have to tie me up! Did you stop to think for one second about what it would do to me to see the man who bloody well should be dead tracking me down? Of course not. You selfish arsehole. ‘Sentiment’s’ just too bloody difficult for you-"

“JOHN WATSON!” The therapist shuts down his tirade. “Sherlock is one of my patients, John, and I don’t appreciate-“

“So you were in on this too! YOU, with all your talk of ‘honesty’, planned this, with HIM!” John points at Sherlock, his face only slightly more restrained.

“Sherlock was here for his appointment. He knew nothing about this.”

“That doesn’t mean I am not to blame.” His voice is strangely tight, softer that his usual pitch, and he feels the brimming tears.

The therapist looks at him and softens slightly. “Sherlock. John. Come in here now.”

She stands firm, even when John’s face falls for a fraction of a second before hardening. Sherlock wonders at her composure. The sight of John’s anger and pain makes something in him break.

John’s military step through the door is a punch in the gut. Sherlock wishes John had hit harder. Then he’d have something to blame for this pain.

“You two need to talk. That much is evident. But I don’t need to be here.” With that she walks out of the room and shuts the door softly behind her. Even that noise make John flinch.

Sherlock can feel the silence, louder than it ever is when he is alone. He knows he must be the one to break it. He has to save John Watson the only way he knows how: by keeping him close.

So he takes a deep breath.  
“John, I’m s-“ Once more he is unable to finish.

“No.  
Don’t you DARE apologize. You don’t get to apologize for this. Just as surely as if you pulled the trigger, you killed her.” His voice breaks on the last word. Sherlock can hear the muffled sob as John turns away.

“You don’t think I know that? I deserve all you’ve said and more. I failed you, both of you. I made a vow, and I broke it.”

“You’re damn right you broke it. You bastard.” John’s shouting, crossing the room to Sherlock’s place by the door. Just as suddenly his anger is gone, leaving a look of profound pain that freezes Sherlock again. John slumps into a chair, putting his head in his hands. 

“I can’t believe she’s gone. Every day I can’t believe it. There’s so much I should have told her.” 

And Sherlock is unfrozen. Because as awful as he is with sentiment, he knows he has to speak now, that John needs him now. He kneels in front of John.  
“John I thought it was going to be me. I saw her fire and I was ready. I had no idea, John, that she, that Mary…” He trails off, looking away.

John is staring at him, eyes red. He’s lost the pitch-black rage that darkened his eyes before. In its place is resignation and exhaustion. Sherlock still feels a faint ray of hope.

“You never saw her as I did, Sherlock. For all her faults, she loved us.” These words sap John’s energy and he slumps further. 

“I never expected that. I never wanted her to care for me.” His voice is still quiet, still pained. John looks up at him and, for the first time, appears to really see him. 

“Sherlock.”

“John.” He almost chokes on the word.

“Why are you here?” The question, tinged with suspicion, is still a relief to hear. It speaks of possible redemption. 

“I-I-“ He pauses to breathe in. “I needed guidance and I had nowhere else to go. I’m no good at this… without you, and answers were crucial.”

“Never thought I’d see the day you admit you’re not good at something.” It’s almost a whisper, the smirk accompanying a flicker of expression, but Sherlock feels a stab of joy. 

I have a chance.

“I’ve been wrong a lot lately. I would like it not to become a habit. I could use some help with that.” He looks up with soft, questioning eyes. 

“Not yet.” His heart sinks and he drops his head, needing to hide. What was he expecting? A hug? Something from the darker recesses of his brain?

He feels a hand on his shoulder. John’s face shows the many sleepless nights, but a small smile softens his features. “That doesn’t mean never. I just-“  
He takes a breath.  
Sherlock’s holding his. 

“I just need some time.” A breath out and Sherlock’s face breaks into a wobbly smile. 

The door opens and they both jump back. Sherlock stands and John sits up straight. Both of them are soldiers in that moment. 

“Just grabbing my tea,” she says with a soft smile, “Carry on.”

“I think we’re done,” John says calmly. “What do you think, Sherlock?”

All he can do is nod and watch John’s exit. He sees the lightness in his step and feels some of John’s calm seep into him. 

He and John are still broken in a million ways, and one conversation will not fix everything.

But it’s a foot in the door, and Sherlock intends to walk through.


End file.
